


storm warming

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bearded Bucky Barnes, Blankets, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Farmer Bucky Barnes, Hair Brushing, Hot Chocolate, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Pillow Talk, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Soup, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Takes A Break, Tender Sex, Top Bucky Barnes, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, White Wolf Bucky Barnes, i talk ab steve in the valkyrie. you know how that goes, kind of. he has the long hair but the beard isnt fully grown out (yet), steve rogers recovering too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: Just like Steve hadn’t asked him to stay out from under the ice, though, Bucky hasn’t asked him to stay out of the fold. Out of trouble, sure (god knows he needs the reminder), but as much as Bucky wishes he’d just sit his ass down and let Bucky take care of him, he can’t take that part of Steve that always keeps him fighting away. It wouldn’t be right.So for now he settles for being his sanctuary on the time he does get with him. It’ll be good enough until it isn’t. That’s how taking care of Steve always is.Bucky just wishes he had known the breaking point for it all was going to be today.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 149





	storm warming

**Author's Note:**

> the way my attention span works is very much either 0 or 100 with no in between. i either can’t focus on writing fic at all, or start a fic and can’t rest until it’s done. hence this 16.7k monstrosity (the longest i’ve written save for my chrisandy origin fic) that was done in less than two days, which both embarrasses and impress me.  
> anyways, i really hope you like this! steve’s aversion to cold/open/sudden water is one i never feel is written about enough. neither is white wolf bucky in general. so: here are two of those things combined! heed the tags, but otherwise, see you in the end notes.

When Bucky finally treks his way up to the palace to greet Steve’s landing, it’s raining. Which isn’t something he’s too used to in Wakanda- where he’s located, the climate tends to be hot and sunny during the day with a cooldown period at night he takes advantage of if he wants to bathe in the pool located behind his hut. Even now in the wintertime (because Christ, he’s been awake a while, hasn’t he?), it’s hot and humid and as Bucky takes another step up the palace stairs and finally hits dry ground under the rooftop, he curses and shakes his head like a dog after finally shedding his waterlogged hood. 

So much for having a good hair day, huh?

He’s mostly dry underneath, at least, even if his hair is frizzed up in the way that Becca had always almost cried about whenever she’d had to deal with herself before a date. Steve’s seen him look worse, anyways. A few wayward strands doesn’t have much on a blown off arm or beaten in face, does it? Bucky doesn’t think so. 

Luckily he hasn’t looked like that in the last few times he’s been able to see Steve, on video call or in person- Steve hadn’t been able to be there when he was woken up out of Bucky’s private request before he’d gone under, a request he hasn’t told Steve about, because how could he? Explaining the decision was out of avoiding the possibility of hurting Steve again if Bucky came up disoriented might have been accepted, but it wouldn’t have made him feel any better, and they had already been feeling bad enough in the first place knowing Bucky had to go under at all. Even if it was only for a few months- a fact that hadn’t been aware of at all at the time 

As soon as Bucky woke up and knew he was volatile enough to be safe to he around, though, Steve was the first one to call- he’d flew in so quick to get there Sam had had some dry remarks to make about carrying him there himself with the wings after things were all said and done (things being _Steve_ ) and Steve’d found the spare moment from kissing Bucky to fish out his burner phone and check back in with his friends. 

That had been about four months ago, now. Four months of Bucky finding even ground, Steve flying back and forth, and the both of them falling for each other all over again. Not that Bucky had ever fallen _out_ when it came to Steve Rogers in the first place. Four months isn’t exactly a long time when it comes to everything else they’ve faced, but it’s the longest Bucky has been able to stay in once place since- Christ, since 1941.

Steve, whether he wants to admit it or not, refuses to give himself the same luxury of healing although T’Challa has offered him the room to stay- there’s plenty Steve could take on here with Nakia and her similar “penchant for justice” (as T’Challa has so fondly called it) and he wouldn’t have to worry about hiding from so many others in fear of jeopardizing things for everyone else. Wakanda already has itself at risk harboring Bucky (a fact he knows Steve feels guilty about sometimes, too, although T’Challa and Shuri have made it clear that they can handle their own country “without a few broken white boys taking responsibility for what isn’t theirs”) but Steve...well, like Bucky says, whether he wants to admit it or not, refuses to give himself what he perceives as luxury. 

Because as usual, the hopeless bastard is still trying to put others before himself, even when he’s so clearly exhausted as Bucky can see with every video chat and every visit. He wants to give Bucky the room to heal and build himself up without cramping his style, according to what Bucky has managed to wrangle out of him while asking him why he won’t let himself stay. He wants to let Bucky _find himself_ without him around to sway that definition, as if he’s not been part of that definition since Bucky was six and he was five in that back alley in Brooklyn where Bucky first found _him_ with his fists already flying. 

Bucky appreciates the sentiment, loves Steve for it fiercely- and with respect to that wish (even if he doesn’t fully agree with what Steve denies himself while making it) he’s done what they both wanted. He’s built a life here, one he’s woken up living these last few months and is grateful for every day. James Buchanan Barnes, honorary White Wolf and part time goat farmer- it isn’t a new identity or who exactly he _is_ , but it’s part of it. It’s part of who he’s become and grown into under these new circumstances, because above all else, _that’s_ who Bucky Barnes is. A survivor. 

Steve, in his own (maybe more obvious) way, is a survivor too. Bucky doesn’t know how he does it, sometimes- in that letter to Stark he’d sat by and watched him draft, Steve had said he hadn’t ever really fit in anywhere. Even the military. And as much as Bucky had wanted to grab him by the shoulders and remind him he always fits in his arms no matter what, he had to admit it was true for the larger picture. But what Steve had missed- is _still_ missing- is the fact that he never really fit in anywhere because he’d never _let_ himself. Bucky knows that’s true as well. 

Now, while Bucky sits back and rests, Steve is still on the run in the way he has been for what seems like his entire life, only this time it’s in the literal sense as well. Jumping from place to place, living on the lam, never letting himself linger...truly, Bucky’s lucky he gets a few videos and visits with how Steve is living. Because he isn’t really living, is he? He can’t be what he’s doing. 

Just like Steve hadn’t asked him to stay out from under the ice, though, Bucky hasn’t asked him to stay out of the fold. Out of trouble, sure (god knows he needs the reminder), but as much as Bucky wishes he’d just sit his ass _down_ and let Bucky take care of him, he can’t take that part of Steve that always keeps him fighting away. It wouldn’t be right. 

So for now he settles for being his sanctuary on the time he _does_ get with him. It’ll be good enough until it isn’t. That’s how taking care of Steve always is. 

Bucky just wishes he had known the breaking point for it all was going to be today.

When Sam comes off the quinjet in the courtyard before Steve- hell, when Sam comes off the Quinjet at _all_ , he can’t remember the last time he’s seen the other man take his interludes here and not with his family- Bucky knows something is wrong. From the way Sam beckons Bucky closer without a word or the usual warm smile, Bucky knows something is _very_ wrong. He’s up and moving from the palace wall in a heartbeat, not even bothering to put his hood back up for the moments back out under the open rainfall. Getting wet is only a minor in convenience, especially when he’s pretty sure Steve is in trouble. 

Once he gets to Sam, though, he realizes that might have been a mistake. 

Sam is out of uniform, clearly having not planned on getting off the jet, arms crossed uncomfortably across his chest. He looks worried. Bucky automatically is too. 

“What’s up, Wilson?” he says, trying to keep his tone on the border of friendly and fretting. He tucks his hair behind his ears. _Where is Steve?_

Sam doesn’t keep him on the outs too long, thank god. He shifts, jerking his head back towards the interior of the jet. “Your boy’s inside the jet,” he says shortly. Then, more soft, “He was, ah- he was in the shower trying to get cleaned over on the way here. Said something about wanting to look nice when he got here.” He looks uncomfortable, but continues on quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. “We got off a mission and things were going well, but then...well, we hit a bump and the tank must have jolted enough to make the water go cold while he was still inside.”

Bucky takes in a deep breath, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. _Oh, god_. 

Steve had never been one for water or the cold even before the serum- his lungs were too weak, every winter frigid enough to kill him, and chances to swim in Brooklyn far and few in between. But after...after, with the Valkyrie, the Potomac, Siberia, even the Alps on the day Bucky was first lost to him off the train…Steve Rogers has every right to be wary of the weather when it turns south of sunny with his track record. 

He swallows and tries to keep the panic off his face, but based off of Sam’s pitying look, it doesn’t work. “How is he?” he whispers. The last time Bucky had seen him after something like this had been in the warehouse, before their fight with Tony, right after Steve had dove headfirst into the lukewarm water off of SHIELD’s interrogation facility to rescue him. Even after Bucky had just tried to kill him. Even though Bucky knows that cold water might be Steve’s greatest fear of all. He’d been shaken then, even if he’d tried his best from keeping Sam from asking and Bucky from badgering. They’d had enough to deal with in that moment that Bucky had let it slip in a way he wouldn’t have if it were any other circumstance- but now, that’s not happening again. Especially when Sam’s expression tells Bucky this time has gotten Steve down something awful. 

Sam’s tensed jaw only cements Bucky’s suspicion. “He’s shaken up pretty bad,” he says, still in that same low voice. “I got him an extra hoodie and he put on some of the warmer clothes he’s been wearing out, but I was steering the jet and we don’t put it on autopilot since the coordinates are private so…” He clenches his jaw again and looks almost angry at himself. “I couldn’t do much.”

“It’s fine, Sam. You know he appreciated it anyways.” Bucky tries to make his tone reassuring through the antsiness, because Sam deserves that much, especially after helping Steve get here in the first place. “It’s not your fault the pipes fucked up, man.”

Sam sighs, giving Bucky a halfhearted smile. “Yeah, I know. I just worry about him. He’s been beat down, lately, and Nat and I were hoping this break might be a chance for him to finally breathe, but it’s just…it’s not off to a good start.” He sounds tired himself, and part of Bucky wants to tell him to go take a nap in one of T’Challa’s fancy bed chambers, but first he has to figure out what to do about Steve. He’s not scared to admit he has priorities. 

“I’ll make it better,” he says honestly, because he will. He always does. “Just gotta get his punk ass to let me take care of him.” That’s always been a feat and a half in most instances, but lately...well, the rougher things get for Steve outside, the sweeter than sanctuary he seeks with surrendering to Bucky is. Bucky is appreciative of that even if he hates where the submission into it has come from and how the easiness of it never lasts as long as Steve insists upon having to keep leaving. 

Bucky can’t point that out, though. He’s left Steve more than once, voluntarily or otherwise. How much of a hypocrite can he be?

Sam takes a deep breath and scrubs a closed fist over his eye. “Up in the cockpit. I wanted to keep an eye on him until the shaking stopped, but…” The _it never did_ isn’t spoken out loud, but Bucky hears it anyways, throat thick when he moves to pat Sam on the back and respond. 

“Thank you,” he tells him genuinely. “You’re a good friend. And- you look exhausted, man, you should go ask T’Challa about spending the night.” Then, twisting his lips into a smile,” “Give yourself the royal treatment and make sure to say goodbye to me and Steve if you leave, yeah?” Sam and him aren’t exactly the closest of comrades or anything, but it’s impossible for Bucky not at least try to get along with someone who means so much to Steve, and he’s telling the truth. Sam is a good friend to him, and ever since Bucky stopped trying to kill him, he’s become that to Bucky as well. He deserves a breather with all the shit the two of them have inadvertently put him through. 

Sam shakes his head with a rueful smile. “As much as I’d like that, I promised my sister I’d try and pop in to my nephew’s birthday party and that’s a promise I’ve gotta keep.” He pats Bucky on the only arm he currently has on his body, expression still worried. “Soon as you go inside and get your boy I’ll be on my way. Just...make sure he’s okay for me, okay?” He exhales. “It’s been a nightmare trying to keep up with him lately, I don’t know how he’s still up and running.”

_It’s because he never stops running,_ Bucky wants to say. Not until he collapses, which sounds to be what’s happening now. The rain probably isn’t helping matters much when he’s already been put on the edge by water once today- and speaking of, Bucky’s not sure how long he’s going to be out here wrangling Steve back together enough to get back down to his place, so…

He shrugs off his raincoat and holds it out to Sam. “Here. You can take this and go wait in the palace, I’ll get Steve to send you a text once we’re ready to head out so we can say goodbye.”

Sam looks vaguely surprised at the offered outerwear, but accepts it regardless. “Thanks, man.” After a pause while he tugs the jacket on and hood up, he speaks again lowly. “Take care. Both of you. But….” Sucking in a breath, he looks away only to look back at Bucky with a serious expression. “Just don’t let him lie about doing okay. He’s not, but he won’t listen to me or Nat when we say to take a break. And I hate to admit it, but,” he smiles, “You’re the only one who can knock sense in to that thick skull of his for some reason.”

“Probably ‘cause I’m the one taking him to bed,” Bucky jokes. It’s true in more than one sense, but they don’t need to know that. Sobering up, he nods at Sam and moves to step on the jet’s ramp with one last grateful smile. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him when I can’t, Sam. I really appreciate it.” Taking care of Steve might always be Bucky’s job and specialty, but Sam and Nat always have his six when Bucky is away, even if they can’t get close enough to do everything Bucky can. That’s just how Steve is- he loves them, but he can’t always let them see him in certain moments.

“He’s one of my best friends,” Sam says quietly, taking a step back of his own towards the palace. “Gotta take care of my own.”

“Make sure you take care of yourself, too, Wilson,” Bucky tells him, one final message before he turns and heads up into the jet like he’s been itching to this whole time. Knowing Steve’s inside, most likely still hurting- still _shivering_ at the least- well, Sam’s lucky Bucky didn’t burst by him as soon as it was implied his best guy wasn’t okay. Now that he knows he’s been triggered into what was most likely a prolonged panic attack that lasted god knows how long while he dried off- on the come down of a mission, no less- Bucky’s practically tripping over himself to get to him, and it isn’t because of his missing arm, for once. He’s gotten used to _that_ weight missing throwing him off balance by now. 

This missing weight, the one that’s Steve when he’s not here...that’s something entirely different that Bucky would trade his other arm to just make it go away. To make Steve finally stay and give himself what he’s been denying since that serum first hit his veins and made him feel required to never stop fighting- _rest_. Maybe this time...something is already different to begin with. Bucky can only hope that it’ll finally lead to a better kind of change for him. 

Bucky can head the sounds of the rain and Sam shuffling away behind him, but he’s not focusing on that right now. How can he when as soon as he crosses the threshold onto the jet, his enhanced hearing can pick up the sound of Steve’s teeth chattering even from so far away? It makes something just a cold as Steve must still be rise up in Bucky’s chest as well. It’s not a good feeling, even if Bucky is more relieved than anything that Steve is back with him. How can he not feel good about that when it comes down to it?

Bucky makes sure to purposely drag his feet on the floor while he approaches to cockpit so that Steve knows he’s coming- like most people with anxiety issues (Steve’s had them since before the war, even if he doesn’t like to address that part of his public medical file) and PTSD, he’s jumpy after episodes like this. Easily spooked. Bucky can’t blame him when he’s the exact same way, even if his responses tend to be more fight than flight in the way Steve’s are (that’s the _only_ part of his life and psyche where that’s the case. Bucky’s heard the stories about him fleeing SHIELD after he woke up). 

Steve doesn’t make any noise outside the shivering and occasional sniff where the cold and panic must have stuffed him up, but Bucky can see him hunched over in the co-pilot’s chair as soon as he rounds the corner of the jet entrance and finally draws closer to him. Even as worn down and tired as Steve so obviously is, what little of him Bucky can see is still beautiful, and once the protective side of him takes over (which when it comes to Steve is a large part), he’s drawn to him like a magnet. 

He pads up behind him, cautious the closer he gets. Steve is still bundled up in the hoodie Sam mentioned, black toboggan he must be wearing out and about on mission pulled over his blonde hair. Bucky’d be focused on how cute he is bundled up like this if he weren’t so worried. But as things are…

He sets his hand on the back of the chair Steve’s in where he knows the other man will be able to pick it up in his peripheral, exhaling through his nose with a fond sigh that’s half natural and half the let Steve know he’s glad to see him. Ground him until he can know it’s safe to touch him, as it were. 

“Hey, honey,” he says quietly, fingers curling in. “It’s good to have you back.”

Steve is so quiet that Bucky is almost afraid he hasn’t heard him, but after a moment he speaks up with a voice so soft that Bucky has to struggle to hear it even with his enhanced hearing. “Hi, Buck. It’s good to be back.” His tone is almost painfully relieved, even with how tight he’s still drawn in on himself. 

Bucky’s glad to have given him that, at least. He doesn’t touch him yet although he’s itching to, just presses on gently trying to get to the point. “I’d say it’s good to see you, but I can’t get a very good look at you like this.” Pausing, he inches his hand closer until it’s only a few inches away from his shoulder. “Wanna turn around for me so I can see that pretty face?” His voice is light.

Steve is quiet again for another moment, but after a few seconds of reluctance silence and the sound of rain beating on the jet roof outside, he obeys the request and turns to blink at Bucky with tired eyes. “This better?” 

In truth, _better_ is a relative term. Steve is still the most gorgeous thing Bucky has seen- always the most gorgeous thing he ever _will_ see- but Bucky’s certainly seen him look better than he does right now, whatnot with the bags currently bruised under his still slightly swollen eyes and the shadow of stubble Bucky almost never sees scraping over the lower half of his worn down face, lips chapped from what Bucky presumes to have been worrying at them and cheeks still ruddy from whatever tears he’d shed. Christ, Sam was right. Now that Bucky’s seeing him in person instead of on a grainy video feed, he can pick up on _exactly_ how beat Steve is, more than just physically. His baby looks drained, mind _and_ body. 

He’s still shivering, but Bucky feels warm when he finally touches him regardless, movements slow and steady until he has a reassuring hand rested on his shoulder through the double layers he can tell he’s wearing. “I’ve missed you. Seeing you always makes it better.”

Steve’s face crumples a little bit at that, headspace obviously more vulnerable after what he’s been through today, but he still fights to keep his voice steady when he speaks. “I’m real happy to see you too.”

“You don’t look very happy right now,” Bucky says carefully, keeping his eyes on Steve’s face even when the blonde darts his away. 

“I’m fine,” Steve says automatically, clench of his jaw doing everything to tip off Bucky that he’s lying even if he wasn’t aware already. “It’s just been a long day.” 

There’s a moment of quiet where Bucky knows Steve is hoping the deterrence will have been accepted, but he should know by now it won’t be. Hence Bucky’s sigh. “Sam told me what happened.”

Steve scowls, which is the most emotion Bucky’s gotten out of him since first laying eyes on him. He crosses his arms tighter across his chest, both hands slipping under his biceps tighter so that he’s essentially hugging himself in the way he always does when he’s feeling distressed. Bucky hates making him feel that way, but in this case, it’s inevitable. He has to get him to talk or he’ll be wallowing during the only time off that he lets himself have. 

“He didn’t have to do that,” Steve eventually says, voice too tired to hold the irritation he wants it to. He’s not really irritated at Sam looking out for him, anyways, Bucky knows. He’s just trying not to put his problems on others as usual, always trying to take up less space out of the field even at his own expense. “I’m okay. Wasn’t a big deal.”

Bucky tries to choose his words wisely. “Maybe not for other people, but that’s not you and it’s not me, either,” he says softly, squeezing Steve’s shoulder. “You don’t have to play this off with me. You know that.” Steve does know, but _Bucky_ knows he’s always had trouble translating the knowledge over to the emotions he always tries to bottle up. 

Steve sucks in a shaky breath, still trembling the slightest amount even though Bucky can see his hair is almost halfway dried off. “I can’t put all my shit on you as soon as I show it up on your doorstep,” he says mournfully. “That’s- I can’t do that, Buck, not when you’ve been looking forward to seeing me.”

“Technically this isn’t _my_ doorstep,” Bucky tries to joke, wanting nothing more than to wrap Steve up in a hug, but also not wanting to jar him by moving so suddenly when he’s still so off balance. Then, sobering up, he goes on. “Steve, I’m always gonna be more than happy to see you, but seeing you hurting isn’t doing more for me than helping you feel better would. I’d rather take care of you and get you happy again then spend your entire visit pretending not to notice how upset you were when you got here knowing I didn’t do shit to help.” Taking care of Steve has always been one of Bucky’s love languages, even above just saying it out loud. They’ve both aware of it. 

Bucky is also aware that while Steve doesn’t like to worry much about his own emotions, he can never help but care about the feelings of the people he loves, so if he won’t tell Bucky what’s wrong to make _himself_ feel better...well, maybe he’ll do it for Bucky. It’s a rotten trick to pull, but Bucky doesn’t have many options here. 

It works, anyways, because Steve is finally opening up (at least a bit) a moment later, voice raspy and reluctant. He’s talking, at least. That’s all Bucky can ask for. 

“‘M just so cold,” he whispers. “I wasn’t- I didn’t know it was gonna happen. Caught me off guard, is all.” That’s not all, and they both know it, so Steve goes on, hunching in further until Bucky finally gives in and kneels down in front of him, hand on his sweatpants clad knee for balance. “Reminded me too much of- It’s stupid, I know, was just a shower-“

“One that ended up reminding you of some awful things,” Bucky gently interrupts, stroking his thumb over Steve’s kneecap. “That’s normal, baby.”

Steve’s suddenly blinking back tears, sudden and sad. “It was just so cold, Buck, and it was like hitting the ice all over again.” He sounds devastated, words coming out watery and wet just like everything he’s afraid of. “I know I’m not back there, but- it was like that day all over again.”

_That day_ being the day he crashed the Valkyrie. The second worst day of Steve’s life. One that he remembers every painful detail of, though the history books and museums won’t bother to tell people that. Steve hadn’t been unconscious when he hit the water (by _choice,_ which is a painful detail Bucky can’t bring himself to think of half the time himself). He’d been still awake and scared beyond all hell, watching the last of his air swallowed up by the water filling his lungs, deeper and deeper until he goddamn _drowned-_ cold, conscious, and all alone in the dark. It was silent in the ice whenever Bucky went under in cryo, but Steve has told him before about the sounds he had when he got submerged. Cracking of the ice loud like thunder while he felt himself get frozen into his worst fear, rushing water running in from outside, his own breathing struggling in his ears while he fought to go under peacefully…

Potomac and trouble with the cold before the serum aside, it’s no wonder he doesn’t like cold water. Anything that reminds him of that day...Bucky has endured horrors Steve thankfully never will, but this? This is an instance where that applies the other way around. 

Bucky slides his hand up Steve’s leg so he can feel the warmth of his palm through his sweats. His heart is aching is his chest at the panic still etched in Steve’s tone. “You’re here with me now, Steve,” he promises, opting for using his name rather than an endearment just to remind him that all of this- including him- is real. “I’m with you. And I’m gonna stay here as long as you want.”

“Always,” Steve responds quietly. 

It’s almost on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to say _if you want_ always _then why do you keep going back out when you don’t have to?_ But he doesn’t, because Steve has already spent enough time at war today without having to continue that with the person who is supposed to comfort him in low moments like these. Still, Bucky thinks it. And he wishes it would change, especially now that he knows leaving has got Steve beat down to hell like this. 

He settles on tucking his hand between Steve’s thighs instead, squeezing reassuringly on the tender flesh. “We can talk about this more if you want later,” he says lowly. They definitely will be, if Bucky has any say in it. But first… “Let’s get you somewhere warm, huh? Wanna go home with me?”

Steve smiles faintly. “Already am home, Buck.” He touches a slightly shaky hand to Bucky’s chest, fingers slightly clammy but making Bucky’s skin sing when he feels them. “Home’s right here.”

Bucky smiles back and stands up, offering his arm out to Steve to help him up best he can with only one side to work with. “Sap,” he sighs softly. Then, tucking himself around Steve’s shoulder and pulling the bulk of him close to his own, he kisses his hair under the edge of his hat and leans slightly forward to meet him in a real kiss as well. Like all of their first kisses, it’s something special, and Steve looks slightly warmed up by it already when Bucky pulls away and nudges his cold nose with his own warm one. “Text Sam and tell him we’re ready to say our goodbyes.”

Steve does, fingers fumbling on the screen, but getting the messages sent out within a few moments before slipping the phone back in his sweatshirt pocket so he can snuggle back into Bucky’s side instead. “Hope he wasn’t too worried.”

Bucky sighs and leans his head against Steve’s, beard catching in the cotton of his toboggan. “He’s your friend. He’s always gonna worry. You worry about him and Natasha, don’t you?” Steve grunts in agreement, but settles for burying his nose in Bucky’s neck instead of verbally replying. Bucky rolls his eyes and hugs him in tighter. “Punk.”

Steve’s hum gets his answer across without him even having to open his mouth. _Jerk_. 

They head out a little further to the ramp, but Bucky doesn’t risk putting them in close proximity with the rain yet. He’s already slightly apprehensive about how he’s going to get Steve back down to his hut in one piece when he’s obviously still feeling so fragile. 

Luckily when Sam comes back out to rejoin them a few minutes later that Steve spends still pressed against Bucky’s side, he’s not only still wearing Bucky’s raincoat but also carrying what looks to be two more as well that are very obviously Wakandan rather than the cheap polyester one Bucky had packed from his place in Bucharest. They must be from T’Challa, or at least whoever Sam had been with inside. He holds them out for Steve to take in hand once he gets close enough, casting a smile Bucky can tell is trying not to be too nervous at an already very nervous Steve. 

“Steve,” he greets. “You alright?”

Steve swallows. He’s never been very good at wading through the aftermath of his emotions, which is one of the reasons he’s so careful about not spilling them over on other people. Luckily, Bucky is usually there to help pull him out if he’s in over his head, but in this instance Steve squares his shoulder and does it himself. 

“I’m back on my feet,” he says, dropping his head forward slightly and accidentally exposing a sliver of his neck to cooler air that makes him shiver again. Bucky shifts his hand over silently to cover it, trying not to grasp too hard in the way he knows always makes Steve go down pliant. Here’s not the time or place for that, not yet. 

Sam relaxes slightly, tension in his shoulders releasing as he begins to tug Bucky’s jacket off. “You need any help getting your things off the jet?” 

It’s an obvious subject change, one that Steve accepts gratefully. He shakes his head and casts a sideways peek at Bucky. “I didn’t bring too much. Just my pack.”

“I’ll go get it for you while you two say goodbye, how about that?” Bucky suggests quietly. He and Sam both need a moment alone together to deal with what happened together, he thinks. 

Steve looks uneasy at the prospect of losing Bucky’s body heat, but nods regardless, letting Bucky kiss his forehead before pulling away and heading back inside. “It’s in the cockpit by where I was sitting,” Steve calls out after him. “Don’t worry, I packed light.”

In truth, that knowledge only makes Bucky worry _more_ about Steve’s perpetual on-the-go mentality he’s fallen into. It’s obviously rough enough on him to have helped make today hit him even harder than usual, but again, this isn’t the time or place to deal with that yet. So Bucky just gives him a thumbs up and goes back inside to let the two of them have some privacy and give himself a moment to breathe. 

He’s never going to resent Steve for anything, but letting himself get so obviously low without telling Bucky about it- that’s what’d get him closest, to be frank. It’s frustrating, but it stems from one of the reasons Bucky wouldn’t change his guy for the world. Even so, when he sees just how light Steve’s bag is- about the same size and weight as the one he’d taken on the run himself from Steve and co. in. Bucharest after Zemo came and tried to uproot the _first_ life Bucky tried to build himself. They’d both succeeded, he thinks. 

Steve’s pack can’t hold more than a few changes of clothes and maybe his uniform- a spare blanket is stuffed to peek out the top that they won’t need with all that Bucky’s got, but might come in handy when Bucky inevitably gives in the urge to wrap them both up in soft things anyways. First, they just have to get back down to his place so Bucky can really take proper care of him, hopefully in his clothes, in his home. 

When he gets back out, Steve is letting Sam pull him into a one armed hug that takes place over top the heavy rain poncho he’s pulled on, the one for Bucky thrown over the shoulder Sam pats after breaking free. There isn’t much speaking going on, but they both look marginally less shaky, so there’s that. 

Bucky holds the bag out to Steve when he comes to stand next to him. “Hey, honey.” He kisses him again just for good measure. PDA always got him a little warmer in the face, so who’s gonna call him out for it? He’s just trying to make his guy feel better, after all. 

Sam, apparently. All in good nature, of course. He practically tosses Bucky’s borrowed (shitty in comparison) jacket back at him after they break it up, eyes rolling. “You were gone for like two minutes and you’re already laying one on him?”

“I call it the star-crossed lovers clause,” Bucky fires back, tucking the jacket to sit over top Steve’s backpack once it’s on his back. He starts to pull on his own rain poncho right after. “Seventy years apart means he gets a kiss after seven seconds, now. Don’t blame me, I don’t make the rules, but with his punk ass- god knows _someone_ has to enforce them.” Steve blushes at the loaded statement and Bucky grins, arm finding its way back around him, going for his waist this time under the draped fabric Bucky can tell just by wearing holds some kind of woven material that will do a better job at repelling the water than his shitty LL Bean jacket from Goodwill ever could. 

“Fair enough.” Sam laughs, casting Steve a final thoughtful look before stepping further into the jet. His expression sobers up. “Rogers, if you need anything...I know we’re on leave and you’ve got Barnes, but consider me one phone call away. I know if Natasha were here she’d say the same.”

Steve curls slightly closer to Bucky, head ducking down to nod solemnly. “I- yeah, Sammy. I know.” Breathing out through his mouth because of his still stopped up nose, he sighs. “I appreciate everything today, man. Sorry if I kind of killed the mood for your trip.”

Sam waves him off, already on his way back to the cockpit. “Now that you’ve got Barnes to handle you, soon as I get some cake in me I’ll be fine. They told me it was gonna be red velvet, even.”

“Bring me back a slice when you come pick him up,” Bucky says, trying to make a joke out of the departure he knows is always looming over them on these visits. Sam’s laugh helps lighten the mood, anyways, head shaking when he disappears from view. “See you, Wilson.”

“I’ll see you when I see you next.” And with that, he and Steve are both putting their hoods up, Steve is taking in a nervous breath, and Bucky is guiding them to step off the jet and out into the rain so that Sam can close the doors and work on lifting up the jet. 

Steve’s shivering the second he feels and hears the rain pelting him, even with how thick the ponchos are. They’re doing a really good job at keeping them dry, but….well, warm is a different matter. Especially when it comes to Steve- and god, what he’s been dealing with today. Bucky wishes he could hold his hand, but the practicality of that when his palms would be damp and they have a trek back down to his hut to start- like most things, it’s regrettably going to have to wait, even if it’s only fifteen minutes. 

He settles for giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “Ready to go? Promise there’s a warm bed and some soup down there waiting for you.”

Steve exhales and gives a determined nod, shoulders squaring. The cloudy and of light from above makes him look even more tired, but his voice is as stubborn as ever when he speaks. “You being there with me is good enough, Buck. Let’s go.” And so they do. 

The path down to Bucky’s isn’t paved or anything, so there’s a few slick spots from the rain he has to approach with caution given his one-armed-glory. Which is by choice, of course (T’Challa had offered but Bucky wasn’t- _isn’t_ ready to give up his body being completely made of himself, not yet) but that doesn’t make it any less inconvenient when what could have been a ten minute walk is turned into an almost twenty minute one. 

Goddamn rain. If nothing else, at least it’s usually muggy when water does fall, but as it’s winter approaching evening- Bucky wants to get Steve inside walls before that temperature fully sinks in to places other than his still chilled body. 

Steve has been to his hut before, more often than he’s stayed with him in T’Challa’s spare palace chambers, so he knows right where to go once they get close enough. He’s still somewhat disoriented from everything- god, Bucky had almost forgotten he’s fresh off a _mission_ as well as an episode- but he’s got his wits about him enough for Bucky to be pretty sure he won’t wander off and get eaten by a hyena or anything. In fact, he actually reaches the hut first, albeit hunched in on himself and hurried. Bucky hurries a bit behind him too once they hit flat ground- he wants to get Steve inside as soon as he can. 

Getting the door unlatched with one hand is always a bit of work, but he manages it quick enough, and it only takes a few seconds after that for him to push inside while herding Steve along with him. It’s almost painfully reminiscent of what he used to do with him back in the forties when it rained and Steve was stubborn enough to get caught on it. The “ _damnit, Stevie, we need to get you dried off before you catch pneumonia”_ is so close it almost sticks in his throat. Steve doesn’t get pneumonia anymore, he has to remind himself. The serum took care of that. 

But he does still need to get dried off. And Bucky will be the one to take care of _him._

He sheds his own ponho to hang off one of the hooks nailed into the back of the door and works on getting Steve out of his soon after, shitty raincoat piling onto the floor so Bucky can toss his still dry bag on the bed. He’s back to shivering once Bucky gets him out of it, even in his dry layers of sweatshirt and mostly dry pants- they could do better, though. Bucky will make it better. Finding himself has only brought that urge to do so out even stronger. 

“If I get you some warmer clothes, how about you change into them while I stoke up the fire and put some soup on?” As he’s speaking, he kicks his own shoes off, which spurs Steve to do the same. The hut has a wooden floor inside, so tracking dirt in is something Bucky likes to avoid. 

Steve nods, eyeing Bucky’s own damp pants when the other man turns to rustle through the baskets of clothes stored under the bed in the corner. “Don’t you need to change too?”

“I can wait for you to get dressed first,” Bucky responds simply. In truth, he has the urge to dress Steve himself, but he feels like that might be taking things too far- for right now, at least. He’s done it before, but he’s already taking the reins a good bit right now, and as much as Steve is surrendering to him, he still needs to feel like he has some capability and usefulness left. Even if it’s just to himself. 

Bucky pulls a pair of clean underwear, thick sweats, a sherpa pullover Shuri sent him as a joke for the upcoming holidays (“so you can match your farm animals” she’d said), and a towel that he’s looping around Steve’s neck when he stands up and hands his clothes to him. He’ll skip on dressing him this time, but….

He reaches up and tugs off Steve’s hat, getting to his still damp hair underneath. “Let’s get you dry.” Steve is still as he lets Bucky run the towel over his head, effectively fluffing his hair up to hell and back once he’s done. It’s a lot longer than usual, new, just like the slight scruff- very un-Captain America, which makes sense, because that’s not part of Steve’s life anymore. Bucky decides he’ll brush it later if Steve lets him. “There,” he says once he’s finished and Steve is mostly dry on top. “Now change. You know where the hamper is.”

Steve turns to obey, and that’s that. Bucky is still waiting to change himself, but he tosses a pair of worn grey sweats and a black sweater on the bed in anticipation before he turns himself to go across the room and stoke the fire back up from where he’d left the coals simmering before leaving to go fetch Steve. It’s easy work with the dry wood he has sitting inside next to the chimney and fireplace his neighbors had helped him fashion, and within a few minutes (that he passes by side eyeing a briefly naked Steve Rogers out of the corner of his view) the flames are back up and flickering heat that Bucky knows from experience will quickly saturate everything and everyone inside the hut. 

After that, he gets up briefly while Steve is still finishing tugging on his pullover and rummages around the kitchen section of the room to rustle up a pot, spoon, and can of the chicken broth he knows Steve used to prefer when he was sick back in the day. Nothing beat his Ma’s but when she was alive, her shifts often kept her from cooking, and when she passed, Bucky’s schedule kept that the same. So, Campbell might not be homemade (Bucky can’t believe the company is still around) but it’s easy and familiar in the way they both don’t often get to appreciate. Once it’s on the fire, he turns around to finally go change and finds Steve practically staring at him, expression shuttered. 

Bucky’s back over to him in a heartbeat, callousness of his palm scraping against his stubble as he clasps his cheek. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

Steve’s eyes close, but not before Bucky can see the tears welling back up. “Nothing’s wrong anymore,” he says quietly. “I’m fine.” By _fine_ he clearly means _not actively having a panic attack anymore._

“Knowing you’re safe doesn’t always make you _feel_ safe,” Bucky murmurs, thumb stroking at the circle under his eye. “I know that better than anyone, pal.” It’s true. His paranoia has never really gone away, even if he’s fought it off enough to keep from having to have the arm on all the time. 

To Steve, this knowledge seems to be news, because he’s blinking open and staring at Bucky tiredly. “I’m just tired,” he says lowly. It’s not the complete truth, but Bucky can tell it’s honest. 

He doesn’t press too much for now, just pats his cheek and kisses him briefly. “You can get in bed while I change and I’ll join you until the soup’s heated up, yeah? I have plenty of blankets. You can even have the fire side.” Because fuck if Bucky is going to let him lay any closer to the sound of rushing water than he has to. 

Steve worries at his lower lip, but doesn’t argue. His hands are balled up like his fingers are still freezing. “Okay, Buck.”

Bucky pushes Steve’s pack off the bed and picks up his own items to give Steve a clean palette to lay on while he gets into his sleep clothes. “I’ll be right next to you in a second.” Steve nods, and closes his eyes while Bucky changes, face exhausted even in this low light. Bucky is regretful to have to stir him once he’s changed, but he’s pretty sure Steve would rather share a bed with him than sleep right now, so he brushes a hand down his back when he climbs up and over him on the mattress to slip under the covers and spoon up against him with his arm resting across his waist. Steve is relaxing as soon as he does so, limp and lethargic. 

“‘S a pretty cozy setup you’ve got here,” he murmurs. 

Bucky hums, rubbing his beard against the back of his neck where he knows he gets coldest when lying down. His guy always has to sleep with something touching the back of his neck, a habit he picked up from too-cold precarious winters when he was small in risk of sickness and then when he was on the front in risk of getting shot. “Haven’t changed much since you were here last,” he says. “Just added in some shelves for extra dry foods and a whole lot of blankets.” 

Which he’s glad for considering their current situation. He’d just been trying to prepare for winter nights without being sure as to what they’d be like (Google only goes so far, especially when it comes to Wakanda) but it’s good to know they have him covered quite literally for this reason as well. 

Steve is quiet for a moment. “I like it,” he finally says. 

_Then you could stay,_ Bucky thinks. But it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of his vulnerability to get him to agree to that, so he doesn’t. “It’s a good place to be in for now,” he answers instead. 

Steve is shifting around suddenly to face him, expression unreadable in the shadows. “For now? You’re thinking about leaving?” He sounds slightly panicked for all that he’s trying to school his features, and Bucky immediately realizes why. Leaving Wakanda- at least now, or until things outside get more sorted out- would mean leaving _Steve_. No way they could keep seeing each other without the protection T’Challa offers them when they’re both such high risk targets- even more so than Sam, Nat, or even Wanda- not unless they were on the run together. Which Bucky has been clear about not wanting with his past choices. 

Bucky’s quick to remedy the confusion. “Jesus, Steve. _No._ ” Then thinking, he reluctantly admits, “Well, yes. Eventually, but not anytime soon with things how they are.” He brushed his thumb against Steve’s hipbone. “As much as I love it here, as much as I’m going to owe Wakanda’s people for the rest of my life- this isn’t my home, really. This isn’t where I belong, taking up their space, and I know it’s not where I want to start the rest of my life when the time comes for me to do that.”

Steve looks like he’s on the verge of tears again. Why, Bucky doesn’t know this time. “And when will that be?” His voice is thick. 

“I don’t know.” _When you decide to stop running and let yourself have peace._ “Healing is a process I know won’t ever end. But, when I know I’m ready to take the next step...I don’t think it will be where I am now.” That next step won’t be by himself, but he doesn’t know how to say that without pressuring Steve to stay here with him. To _heal._ He wishes he didn’t have to want to pressure him to do that in the first place, but Steve has always been self-sacrificing and Bucky knows it. The world knows it after Bucharest, but they don’t know how _much._

Steve is quiet again, head tucking forward into Bucky’s chest like he wants to bury himself there and never leave. Bucky knows _he_ never wants him to. “Just...make sure you tell me if you’re ever ready to do that,” he whispers, muffled into black fabric. “Would have throw you a going away party and everything.”

Bucky can’t keep his response from coming out this time, too torn up by the sound of Steve ever thinking he’d leave him behind by choice ever again now that he’s in his right mind. “Punk, you’re out of your damn mind for assuming I wouldn’t be inviting you to go right along with me.”

The idea of Steve going with Bucky instead if vice versa seems to take the blonde by surprise. Which is fair, considering Bucky was the one to willingly follow him as Captain America (although technically after Steve chased him down in the war first), hunt him down as the Soldier (although Steve was the one who sought him out soon after that), and let Steve take him to Wakanda (although now Steve is the one who keeps getting drawn back). Looking at it, maybe Steve does follow Bucky just as much as Bucky follows Steve, but the mantles they both wear have made it appear otherwise, even to them on the surface level. Captain America’s second in command doesn’t exactly get the rep of being the one who takes the lead, even if their professional lives and field personas have never reflected all of their personal relationship. 

Bucky’s older, even now, although people don’t seem to really remember that besides Steve. He started out bigger, stronger, was always the one who pulled Steve out of trouble- and even after all this time, all that’s not gone away in how they view each other. Setting and serums have only changed how _others_ view them, and seeing how none of those people are bundled up in their bed right now, who is Bucky to give two shits about that? Steve’s his home, his heart, always has been. It never took being in the army to follow that. 

“They’d only send us right back on the run again,” Steve eventually whispers, longing for Bucky’s offer clear in the wetness of his voice and tremble of his tucked in jaw. His feet have found their way between Bucky’s legs, colder than their shitty apartment on Christmas morning. “I can’t do that to you.”

“We’d find somewhere,” Bucky whispers back. “I’d keep us safe.” He’d said that exact same sentence once when he and Steve had it out a night before he got sent away to boot camp and Steve came home so sick Bucky’d almost thrown up right along with him at the idea of ever leaving him alone like this. Deserting, going on the run from the draft, dodging his registration- those had all been wild shots neither of them could ever really want, but Bucky had been desperate with how cold the coming winter was going to be with Steve stuck here by himself, no one around to take care or even give two shits about a skinny kid like him. Knowing Steve would never agree to the coward’s way out didn’t keep Bucky from practically begging him to run away, but the shame that rose up after he got sober from the fear sure did. 

Steve remembers, based on how slumped down his shoulders go, and Bucky would wait to see what he has to said, but…

“I think the soup’s ready, sweetheart. I’m gonna go take a look. Keep my spot warm for me, yeah?” Bucky kisses Steve’s tangled hair on his way out of the bed and tries not to sigh at how gentle the breath he lets out is. They’ll talk more after they get something hot in their bellies. Sarah had always said an argument between lovers was better on a full stomach than an anyone, if they had to be had. Now that the topic has been brought up... 

This one has been a long time coming. Bucky needs to tread carefully, even if he knows he’ll inevitably get as snappy as he always does when Steve doesn’t listen to reason, like he had at Stark’s expo, in his Bucharest apartment, after Steve’s ma died and he was determined to go right along with her- like he’s done dozens of times over the last century. Steve’s not the one one with some fire in him- George Barnes’ temper got passed down to at least one Barnes’ child, even if Bucky is usually mellow. 

Speaking of fire- Bucky wishes for a moment he still had the metal hand just so he wouldn’t have to concentrate so hard on not burning himself as he stirs the soup in an attempt to see if it’s warm enough to eat or not. It should be, he determines, pulling two mug-style bowls (because eating soup with only one hand has turned out to be tricky- sipping, he’s found, is better than spoons) and squatting next to the fireside table to take the pot off the fire and start ladling some of the broth inside. He’ll get Steve a spoon from the kitchen drawer in a second. 

When he goes to do so, he turns around to hand it to him only to find him staring again- only not at Bucky so much as at the window in the door that gives a small glimpse to the still rough weather outside. His face is ashen. Bucky takes in a breath and moves to go shut the curtain over it after taking three trips to set each bowl on his nightstand and the spoon on Steve’s lap where he propped up against the driftwood headboard Bucky had fashioned before his first visit over here when he wanted to give Steve (and himself) a “real bed” to fall down into. 

He tries to distract Steve with a smile and the view of him crawling up back on the bed with a promising look. “Let’s eat. You might even be able to persuade me into making cocoa after if your manners are good enough.” He won’t even have to try- Bucky’s going to take _every_ measure to keep him warm tonight. There are more enjoyable ways of doing that than chicken noodle soup, too. 

Steve at least looks slightly comforted, steam from the bowl making his eyes and nose stop up a bit when he goes to follow Bucky in taking a sip from his bowl rather than use the spoon. “You used to feed me this before,” he says quietly. 

Bucky smiles and brushes his shoulder- or what’s left of it, anyways- against Steve’s. “I remember.” 

“Always when I was sick- said it-“ Steve swallows and looks dangerously morose, even wrapped up and warm like he should be feeling. “You said it’d help me get better. Don’t know if it ever did, though.” The joke is weak, but it’s there. “It always helped me _feel_ better at least.”

Hopefully it’ll do the same now, but Bucky’s worried at how shivery Steve still is. Something is still wrong. Until Steve sets himself down, _stays_ , Bucky has a suspicion something is always going to be wrong.

“Yeah, well,” he crosses his feet under his thighs to sit up straighter and watches Steve do the same under the covers. “I know it’s not your Ma’s, but-“

“It’s pretty much _yours_ , by now,” Steve says softly. “Only damn good thing I ever associated being sick with.” He’s not sick anymore, but the pale tint his skin has held since Bucky walked to him on the quinjet means he might as well be. The cold and the fear of getting wet _has_ to remind him of what those days felt like. Jesus, this type of weather stirs up more bad memories in Steve than Bucky had initially thought. No wonder he’s still off balance. It’s just one thing after another for Steve, isn’t it?

“Better than half the shit we had to eat back then.” 

Steve smiles faintly and tugs up one of Bucky’s extra blankets to wrap around his shoulders. “We made do.”

“Well, I’m still _really_ glad they stopped deciding to boil everything, because I gotta tell you- if I never have to eat another salt potato again, it’ll be too soon.” Bucky grimaces and takes another sip of soup. “Goddamn things were awful.”

“No worse than what they shoved down our throats in the war,” Steve counters, smiling at Bucky’s pause where they both know he’s itching to make a crass joke. “I think _biscuits_ was a relative descriptor to what we were eating.”

“And a generous one, at that,” Bucky laughs, hopeful about continuing on the lighthearted conversation Steve has started up, at least for a while until the blonde is comfortable enough to tell him what’s wrong. “And the coffee- man. Don’t know how we made it through.” As soon as the last words leave his mouth, he sees Steve freeze and knows he’s fucked up with his phrasing. “Steve-“

Steve is very still, but his words come out jumbled. “Technically we didn’t.”

Bucky is still too, and the room goes silent besides the crackling of the fire. “Steve…”

Steve is hunched in on himself, nearly empty cup of soup set to the side on the table as he draws in on himself, face streaked with grief that’s decades old but nonetheless devastating. “I’m sorry- I- it’s just been a long day and I’m tired, it just came out-“ 

He’s throwing out apologies, but Bucky isn’t hearing them when he has nothing to be sorry for. He shakes his head and leans over to cast aside his own cup before wrapping his arm around Steve’s back so tight it’s like he’s twenty again and worried Steve won’t make it through the night. “Baby, it came out because you need it to. You need to talk about it- you need to do that to let it go, honey, and I’m right here to help hold you together while you do that.”

Steve is fully crying again for the first time since Bucky’s seen him, tears soaking into Bucky’s sweater as he clings closer and Bucky drags him down to lay on his side, chest halfway on top of him. “Buck, I don’t- I can’t-“

Bucky quiets him and strokes down over his hair. “Sure you can. You’ve done it before, and that’s not the type of thing that super serum was supposed to take.” He’s read the reports of Steve’s inconsolable crying after his fall, and even then- for all that Steve’s emotionally stifled when it comes to the selflessness, that’d never stopped him from breaking down every once and awhile. He always feels so much it’s impossible to expect him not well over- but Bucky is always the only one who seems to see that no matter what body he’s in. “Talk to me, Steve. I’m right here.”

He’s expecting to have to wait for Steve to build himself up, but the response he gets is almost immediate. Quiet, spoken wetly into the scruff and plastered down hair on Bucky’s neck- but still there. 

“It’s so cold, Buck,” Steve sobs. “It always still feels so _cold_.” And doesn’t Bucky’s heart just go cold right along with that? Steve isn’t done yet though- now that the start of it comes out, it seems like the rest is quick to follow. “The cold always comes back and everyone else goes away,” he says brokenly, holding onto Bucky like he’s afraid he’s going to do just that. 

And that’s when Bucky gets it, maybe clearer than he ever has before, because that’s it, isn’t it? What Steve just said- that’s why he won’t stop running even though he’s always wanted a normal life, because he’s afraid if he does slow down, everyone else will start again and he’ll be left out alone in the cold. Just like he was on that god forsaken plane. “Baby,” he whispers into his hair. “ _Steve_.”

Steve can’t seem to hear the endearments over the sound of the noise on repeat in his head, breathing heavier until Bucky’s almost afraid he’s having an asthma attack again. “Feels like I’m never gonna thaw out, Buck….” he croaks out. “Every time I think I’ve finally got my head above water it always just rushes right back.”

The honesty of what he’s saying is so raw it’s painful just for Bucky to _hear-_ and what Steve must be experiencing...he hugs him closer best he can with one arm and tries not to let his own tears shed while he glares up at the ceiling. Steve went under that ice because he was gone, and although Bucky has never admitted it, because he can’t without making Steve feel validated in feeling the same thing with Bucky’s fall- he’s always felt at least partially responsible

Steve’s tears are hot against Bucky’s neck, even with how coldly his next words are spoken out. “Sometimes I don’t know how much longer I can stay afloat.”

Bucky’s throat has so many emotions in it at that wrenched out statement that he can barely speak, but when he does, his voice comes out thick. “Don’t you _dare_ go under on me ever again, Rogers. Not when I’m finally back here to wade in and pull you out.” Steve’s only response to that is a hitched sob Bucky feels reverberate through his chest, heart falling down with it. “I’ll carry you,” he whispers out. “You ever can’t take care of yourself, sweetheart, I’ll be right behind you to help you out.”

Steve’s eyelashes are stuck together when he pulls his head up, eyes so swollen he almost looks like a different person. His frantic kiss, though...that’s all Steve Rogers. That’s all Bucky’s boy. 

As much as Bucky loves to kiss him, he can still taste the salt of his tears in his lips, and he can’t let Steve continue this in good faith without following the conversation through. So, reluctantly, he breaks away and looks at Steve with a sad smile that he knows doesn’t reach his welled up eyes. “I’ll get you warmed up again, Stevie. I promise.” He leans their foreheads together. It should be impossible for someone as bright as Steve- to Bucky he’s the goddamn _sun-_ to feel as hollowed out and cold as he does, but taking care of him has always been Bucky’s specialty and no super serum or unnecessary fear of settling down is going to keep him away from doing what he does best. 

Steve still tries, though. Always the martyr. “You shouldn’t have to,” he sniffs, hand scrubbing over his face like he can wipe away his problems with it. “Just because you’re doing better and I can’t get my shit together-“

“You can,” Bucky interrupts gently. He’s done keeping quiet on this matter. Steve shouldn’t ever have to get like this for Bucky to speak up. “You just haven’t let yourself try. How can you when you won’t even stop moving? Your whole life you’ve been holding your breath for other people, baby. It’s time to let yourself _breathe._ ” Then, because it’s go hard or go home (and home is already wrapped up in his arms), “What good is being warm if I can’t share it with you?”

Steve seems to be at a loss after Bucky asks him that, red bitten lips parting as he looks at him with an expression of disbelief. All these years and he still has the room to be surprised Bucky wants to spend his life with him, huh? Punk isn’t a nickname given lightly. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop running- stop fighting- I’ll crack and everyone will see just how weak I am without having someone else’s problems to keep me strong,” he eventually whispers. “Ultron once said- said I was only pretending I could live without a war. And Buck- what if he was right?” He swallows back another round of tears with a watery smile. “What if fighting is all I’m good for?”

“No,” Bucky says immediately, firm and final. “Pal, I don’t know what crock of shit Stark’s robot tried to feed you, but he only knew you from whatever hooey the internet fed _him_. He didn’t know you. But I do- and you, Steve Rogers...you keep fighting because you always get back up.” That was Sarah’s favorite motto, and she wasn’t wrong, but…Bucky takes in a deep breath and grips the back of Steve’s neck with a grounding hand, skin against skin. “But not being on the move doesn’t mean you’re giving up. It just means you’re taking a rest so next time you have to pick yourself up, you’ll be steady on your feet.”

Steve is quiet in a way that Bucky knows means he’s taking the words in and deciding if they’re true or not. They are. Steve just needs to see that, and he’s getting there. He just needs a little reassurance. 

“I just don’t wanna drag you down with me,” he finally answers. His face is clearer, but his voice is still wobbly. “You’ve done so much to have your healing and I don’t wanna fuck that up.”

“You can’t fuck up what already isn’t perfect, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, letting Steve tuck his feet under his own. They’re still cold, but warming up as Steve relaxes. “Healing is never going to be a smooth ride for either of us after everything. And I love you for letting me learn how to live a life for myself again, but when it comes down to it…” He presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, red from crying. “You’re a big part of my life no matter where or when it is, and having you out of it would fuck me up worse than anything you do along the way ever could.”

“I don’t want to ever be out of your life,” Steve says quietly. “Not unless you want that.”

“Well,” Bucky grips his neck tighter, reveling in the way it renders him pliant. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ll never want that as long as I live.” Steve laughs wetly, and Bucky smiles too, small and hopeful. This conversation was long overdue, and now…He clears his throat. “I know we’ve talked about why you don’t want to spend too much time here before, but now that-“ He sighs and braces himself for the possibility of another adamant rejection. “Now that we’ve gone back over it-“

“Yes,” Steve says softly, interrupting a speech Bucky wasn’t even sure he was going to say in. To make matters easier, Steve clarifies in a hushed tone. “I’ll….I’ll stay.”

Bucky looks at him, surprised and already overjoyed. That was almost too easy. “You will?”

Steve takes a deep breath, wiggling more on top of Bucky like he can’t get close enough now that he’s agreed to stay. “I can’t promise if duty comes calling I won’t go back out to save the world again, but….the world clearly doesn’t need Captain America as much as I once thought it did, and neither do I.” He’s quiet for a moment before shyly speaking back up again. “But I think Steve Rogers might need you, though.”

Bucky smiles and rubs a thumb over the grown out hairs on the nape of his neck. “Steve Rogers is always gonna have me.”

Steve pushes back into it with a sigh that’s finally content. “I want to get better, you know.” He smiles ruefully. “Guess I’m just stubborn about admitting I need to.”

Bucky snorts and tugs on Steve’s hair lightly, longer hair easier to pull than ever (he’ll have to make use of that eventually. God knows Steve has with his). “I’m used to that, pal.” He softens his voice for his next words. “I’m not expecting you to stay here forever, because I won’t be either. But wherever we end up...I’d rather it be somewhere together. We deserve that.”

“I don’t need forever for anything else but you,” Steve answers quietly. 

Bucky kisses him, slow and sensual with fingers curling closer to push down against the soft spots he knows is located behind his ear- it renders him soft and sweet when Bucky pulls away. “Then that’s what you’ll get, babydoll. ‘Til the end of the line, right?”

Steve smiles and rolls off the top of him to cuddle up to his side instead, soft material of his pullover brushing against Bucky’s neck. “That’s the implication.”

“Nah, sweets. That’s the _promise._ ” Steve rolls his eyes, so he must be feeling better, but Bucky still has to verbally check in after their next kiss and a few moments of companionable silence. “Are you feeling any warmer now?”

Steve nods, but remains snuggled up to Bucky’s side. “A little bit, yeah.”

“Warm _enough_?” Bucky clarifies. Steve’s shrug gives him the answer he needs. “Well, I did promise to help you out with that…”

“Help me out how?” Steve asks, slightly hopeful and suspicious both. 

Bucky grins and tries to look thoughtful. “Well, there’s that hot chocolate I mentioned earlier in the cabinet, but…” He leans closer to Steve and brushes his lips against his ear. “You know what they say about sharing body heat.” Steve shivers, and this time Bucky is pretty sure it’s not from any sort of cold. 

It’s as much of a real proposition as it is just a tease meant to lighten the mood- Bucky knows how things are. Sometimes after emotional moments you want that type of closeness and intensity. Sometimes you don’t. Either option Steve chooses is more than fine with him- he’s missed him something awful, and he means that for more than just his body. 

Steve’s slightly flushed, but he doesn’t say no or move away, so Bucky has a pretty good idea of what his answer might be. “Yeah?”

Bucky grins at the breathlessness in his tone and reaches down to grab Steve’s hand and help slot his fingers between the warmth of his thighs, toned and tanned under his sweats from how much he’s been working outside. “Getting you hot has always been an enjoyable pastime of mine.”

Steve doesn’t bother berating him for the line, too busy sliding his hand up until it reaches the warmest, most intimate part of Bucky’s body between his legs. He doesn’t even move it, just holds it there like he’s soaking in the warmth and weight of it without Bucky even having to be fully aroused yet. It’s oddly tender, to be appreciated even in this state, like every part of his body is something comforting for Steve after moments like earlier events. 

Steve’s swallow is audible when Bucky begins to firm up beneath his touch. “Yes,” he breathes out. “Yeah. I want it.”

Bucky is already reaching down and undoing his drawstring by the time Steve gets his last word out, pushing down out of his sweats and briefs under the covers while Steve quickly does the same. He doesn’t bother getting out of his sweater the way Bucky does, but the feeling of his bare thighs against Bucky’s own is good enough to get Bucky’s mind off of any disappointment he has about not seeing his chest. 

They kiss messily, taking advantage of the fact that they now practically have all the time in the world together since Steve isn’t leaving again. And oh- _Steve isn’t leaving again._ Bucky’s happiness at that realization has him licking into Steve’s mouth and causing the blonde to rub his own burgeoning _happiness_ up against his thigh. 

“Baby,” he murmurs once they pause kissing to take a breath. “You want me?”

Steve lets a small noise break free when Bucky reaches down to grope at his ass under the covers, temperature already rising beneath the fabric. “I always do, Buck.”

Bucky slides his own fingers against Steve’s body, location equally as intimate. Brushing the pad of his finger against his entrance, he asks again, voice low. “You want me here?”

Steve arches back into the touch eagerly, like he hasn’t been touched there since the last time Bucky had him. It’s possible he hasn’t- privacy while on the move is sparse as it is, and letting your guard down enough to risk being caught with your pants down...Jesus, Steve has most likely been depriving himself of even simple pleasures with how he’s been living. 

Well, Bucky isn’t having that anymore, not when he’s here to give those pleasures and warmth Steve like he deserves. 

Steve wants it, based off of his plaintive moan. “Yes,” he sighs, tipping his head forward against Bucky’s shoulder, blonde hair flopping forward onto the scars and protective sleeve Bucky is still getting used to. “Please.”

Bucky won’t make him wait, not when he’s just asked so sweetly like that. He strokes over his hole again, their foreheads pressing together while Steve pants and rolls his hips forward to help press a thigh to each of their erections.

Since Bucky currently only has one arm, he’s going to need Steve to do a little of the work here. Regrettable considering how tired he is, but necessary with their current physicalities. “There’s some slick in the nightstand drawer,” he says lowly. He’s moved it since the last time they did this. “Get it out so I can get my fingers in that hot little hole, yeah?” Steve’s face is hot as well when he nods and moves to follow the direction. 

His hands fumble with the lube when he finally pulls it out of its hiding place, but after a few seconds he has it placed on Bucky’s chest, fingers still curled around it. He knows what’s coming. 

Bucky pushes his fingers forward a bare amount until the tip of one breaches inside, barely, but enough to get Steve groaning. “Open up the slick,” Bucky rasps out. This is one of his favorite parts of learning to accommodate his body as it is when it comes to sex with Steve. “Warm it up between your fingers so you can help me open you up. Don’t want you getting cold again.” 

Steve whimpers, but flicks the cap of the lube open in order to drizzle a dollop onto his fingers, rubbing the tips together with his thumb to do as Bucky said until he’s deemed it warm enough for Bucky to raise the covers up with his elbow so Steve can tuck his own arm back behind himself, trailing lower and lower until his wet fingers meet Bucky’s dry ones where they’re still resting on his rim. 

Christ, it’s always a rush when they do this- most of the time, they have to since Bucky can’t brace himself up and use his fingers at the same time, and in this instance he doesn’t want to make Steve get out from under the blanket to sit on top of him. It’s a different kind of intimate, both of them in there at once, fingers touching- and Bucky likes it. He likes it a lot. 

“C’mon and get yourself wet for me,” he murmurs, voice husky with just how much _like_ he holds for this action. “Make sure it won't hurt you.” That’s the last thing Bucky wants right now, or ever, really. Especially since the Hellicarrier, even if Steve isn’t as breakable as he was the first time they did this. 

Steve does with a hitched sigh, Bucky’s fingers moving out of the way so Steve can replace them with his own, lubed up and loosening his hole while he strokes over it enough to get it lax. Bucky can’t see it with the blanket still in the way, but he can tell when Steve presses his first finger inside himself by the way his mouth falls open with a groan. He’s always been especially sensitive down there. 

“Good?” Bucky murmurs, palming a hand over the swell of Steve’s ass while he waits for the opportunity to join in. 

Steve’s exhale is the good kind of shaky, head nodding against Bucky’s neck. His stubble scratches at the skin. “Been a while,” he says distantly. “Missed it- missed you.”

Bucky listens for the moment Steve slips a second finger inside, motions of his arm rhythmic under the covers as he starts pumping his fingers in and out enough to start stretching himself open. “Missed you too,” Bucky says quietly, kissing his now sweaty hairline. “I’ll get you used to it again, yeah?”

He can feel Steve smile against his neck, voice coming out dreamy. “Yeah.” He gasps as he presumably hits his prostate, and Bucky takes that as signal to slide his hand back down from Steve’s asscheek to his cleft, stroking up and down just to let him know he’s about to join in. 

He decides to verbalize it anyways, just to make sure Steve is okay with what’s coming. “I’m gonna get my fingers in you now too, okay? Tell me if anything is too much.” Steve nods, and Bucky kisses his hair a second time before following through on his words and pushing the tip of his fingers against Steve’s momentarily stilled ones, pressing forward against the slick ring gently until he feels it give and his finger is slipping inside. 

Steve gasps once he feels Bucky joining inside him and blanks out for a good five seconds that Bucky spends focusing on the feeling of his dick pressing against one of Steve’s lean thighs. “God,” he chokes out once he gets his wits back. “ _Buck._ ”

Bucky lets out a faint groan himself, finger stroking along the inside of him, hot, tight, and perfect. “You feel so good, sweetheart. You feel that? How hot you are inside?” 

Steve rocks his hips back onto their combined fingers- the angle of his arm has to feel awkward, will probably eventually cause a cramp, but he looks blissed out in the meantime. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I do.”

“Drives me crazy,” Bucky says, pressing a second finger at Steve’s hole while they both work through the motions of stretching him out together. Four fingers might seem like a lot, but...well, Bucky’s dick has never been anything to shy at. Steve knows that better than anyone alive. “All of you does.”

“You’ve been crazy for a while, then,” Steve says, hazy and hot against the skin of Bucky’s neck. His hair is stringing across his forehead when he lifts up. 

“Can’t blame a fella,” Bucky whispers back, letting Steve initiate a kiss that he leads even from where he’s lying underneath him. Having Steve on top of him like this- makes him feel a little power drunk like sex with Steve this way always does. 

Steve moans when Bucky brushes against the nub of his prostate, toes curling where his feet are tucked up against Bucky’s calves. “Would never blame you…”

“Yeah, you’re sweet like that when you’re not being a punk, huh?” Bucky teases breathlessly. His dick is rubbing just right against the planes of Steve’s abs the more he shifts up on top of him and it’s getting him hotter than anything except maybe Steve. The mission of warming him up is being accomplished, he supposes. He’ll count it as a victory. 

It’s not over yet, though. Steve shudders at the firm press of Bucky’s fingers to his sweet spot, cock drooling between them and smearing up against the hem of the sweater he’s still wearing (well, laundry day was approaching anyways). “Buck,” he sighs. “Please- please, c’mon, get in me-“

Bucky bites back his own noise- everything else but Steve is fading out of focus, including the sound of the rain still beating down outside. “I will, babydoll. I’m just making sure I’m not gonna hurt you, you said it’s been a while and-“

“Bucky,” Steve cuts him off, deep voice practically begging. “I need you. Please.” And oh, isn’t that a dirty trick. How is Bucky supposed to resist that?

He isn’t. So, with a final few pushes of their joined efforts into Steve’s hole, Bucky eases his fingers out, Steve’s following slower behind him until he’s whimpering out slightly at the sudden emptiness inside. 

Bucky wants to remedy that as soon as possible, but first-

“Do you wanna condom for this, sweetheart?” he murmurs. They don’t usually use one, but it’s pretty late for a bucket shower (the bucket being the only option Bucky has) and Bucky doesn’t exactly have much else to deal with that mess besides a washcloth. Still, Steve shakes his head, so he ignores the logistics in favor of kissing him instead. “You want my come inside you? Gonna keep my cock warm inside until I fill you up?” he murmurs afterwards. 

Steve’s breathing picks up as he nods and moves up his free hand to flick the cap for the lube back open so he can bring up his other hand as well and prepare to get Bucky’s cock slicked up as well. “I want it.”

Bucky smiles up lazily at him when the blonde braces up on one arm to fit his hand between them and stroke over Bucky’s cock until it’s just as wet and shining as the tip of Steve’s is from where he’s leaking. “Then you’ll get it.”

After Steve finishes with the lube, he casts it to the side and looks at Bucky with questioning eyes. “How do you want me?” he asks softly. 

Bucky thinks for a moment, but it’s an easy decision. “On your front.” That way he won’t have to bare himself of the covers- Bucky can essentially act as a blanket for him, fuck him slow and sweet like he deserves. The only catch is dirtying the sheets, but that’s resolved soon enough when Bucky spots the extra blanket from earlier Steve had around his shoulders. Picking it up, he hands it to Steve. “Here, put this under you so we can save the sheets.” He’ll wash it with their clothes tomorrow. 

Steve does, rolling off Bucky with a sigh once his erection loses the friction against Bucky and then sighing again when he gets it back by pressing it down into the blanket covering his spot on the bed. Like this, he’s surrounded by softness on both sides- at least barring the hard length of Bucky’s cock pressing against his ass a moment later. 

“You ready?” Bucky asks, head catching on the rim of Steve’s hole- he’ll need Steve’s help to guide it in anyways. 

Steve nods, hand that isn’t clutching at the pillows moving back between them on the side Bucky’s arm isn’t to do just that. “Ready,” he echoes, and that’s all Bucky needs to hear before he’s taking the granted permission and pressing forward to slip right inside Steve’s body. 

As soon as the head pops fully past the rim, he’s grunting. Steve is so fucking _tight_ , every time- and he wasn’t lying, he’s warm here too. Every bit the sunshine Bucky likes to call him. 

Since he only has the one arm to brace himself up on, Bucky settles his full weight down and opts for putting the pressure mostly on his knees bracketing Steve’s legs instead. His flesh arm is strong, strong enough to hold out and fire a gun or toss hay bales across the goat’s pen, but his legs are still stronger and he has two of those. The position helps push his dick deeper inside Steve, too, a motion that makes the both of them groan out. Bucky drops his head on Steve’s shoulder once he’s seated fully inside, Steve’s bicep tantalizingly close under the fanout of Bucky’s hair. 

“Fuck,” he swears. “Better than heaven, Stevie, every time.” He presses a kiss to the same spot his thumb had brushed against earlier under his ear, and Steve shivers, clenching around him. Bucky groans, hips giving their first shallow thrust forward. “Taking me so sweet already.”

Steve whines when Bucky drags back out again, hands gripping at the pillowcase. “I’ve had enough practice,” he pants out, voice dreamy. 

Bucky laughs breathlessly, hips giving another shallow grind that Steve arches back into. His dick must be rubbing up nice under him, although Bucky’s pretty sure it’s not anything compared to the feeling of being inside him- maybe Bucky will let him have a turn at that with his body tomorrow, but that’s for a different day. Bucky’s not in the position to focus on much else but the current moment right now. 

“I won’t make you put in too much of that today,” he says, nosing at his neck and biting a mark into the side where he can taste the sweat and feel the soft material of his top rubbing against his own bare chest. “Just gotta lay there and let me love on you. I’ll get you warmed right up.”

In truth, Steve is visibly already warmed up well enough- he’s sweating, panting, flushed down his neck, and it feels like a sauna under the covers between them, but none of that really matters when Bucky’s dick is inside Steve. Steve isn’t complaining at least so Bucky just continues on, pace quickening the steadier he gets, the sound of his hips and heavy balls landing against Steve’s ass helping tune out any of the other noise happening outside or around them. 

It’s the closest thing Bucky thinks they’ve ever had to bliss. Knowing Steve isn’t going anywhere and that he’s finally gotten to the point of accepting he needs to make things good for himself rather than just everyone else- it’s the best thing Bucky could ever ask for, really. Being with Steve always is. 

The noises Steve is letting out reflect similar feelings, moans and muffled calls of Bucky’s name being spoken into the pillow he has his face buried in. “Bucky,” he’s saying, voice almost reverent, like he can’t believe he gets to have this wholly after denying himself for so long. “Buck- oh, god, Bucky- c’mon.”

Bucky will make a believer of him yet. For now they only have Wakanda (and that’s already more than enough) but one day Bucky’s gonna give this man the whole _world._

In the present moment, he settles for giving him his whole body- or at least, all that he’s got in terms of fucking inside him. Bucky’s been his mind, body, and soul for a long time. Even before they were old enough to be doing all this. Maybe even before Steve was born. Bucky Barnes was put on this earth to love Steve Rogers- he might have had to wait, more than once, but that didn’t stop him from being plucked away from him only to push his way right back. 

Steve is pushing his own way back, hips grinding against the bed and Bucky’s cock just like Bucky’s are against his ass. He’s letting out breathy little pants at the friction on both sides, sweating enough with the exertion for it to be beading at the nape of his neck and grown out strands. Hotter than sin.

Bucky’s feeling an echo of that licking up in his belly the harder he moves to hump his hips forward, sweet clench of Steve working around him and snapped forward motions of his body leaving him riding a red-hot edge of arousal that has him grunting with every hurried thrust forward he gives to chase it. He’s gonna come soon, have his way inside Steve and leave him so full of Bucky inside he won’t even think about ever being away. Paint his inside warmer than they already are. 

He tells him as much, bitten off and breathy against the spot behind his ear. “I’m gonna come, baby. Right inside you. You want that?” Because checking a final time even when he’s on the edge like this is never going too far. 

Steve’s nod is frantic, one hand lifting hesitantly off the pillow. “Yeah- yeah. Wanna come too, can I touch?” He doesn’t _need_ to ask permission, not when the sex they’re having isn’t serious so much as sensual, but it’s a sweet gesture Bucky welcomes with a groan. 

“Yeah, go ahead. Help me make you feel good.”

Steve sighs out in relief once he slides his hand under hipself, hips canting up so that he can have enough room to stroke and only serving to get Bucky’s cock angled deeper inside him. “Love you, Buck,” he whispers, words coming out crystal clear through the groan that surrounds them. 

Bucky kisses the edge of his cheekbone, lips not lifting off of skin when he replies. “Love you right back, Stevie.”

It only takes another minute or so of their combined efforts to get Bucky close enough to spill over the edge with a groan, and the feeling of him doing so seems to be what sends Steve along the same path, come emptying out on the blanket laid under him while Bucky’s does the same inside him, cock pulsing out release hot and heady for them both. 

Bucky’s never really been one for getting messy like this- he leans more towards topping generally although the other way around with Steve is just as nice. It’s just that without a condom, the out of control factor it makes him feel in regards to one of his body’s most vulnerable areas is more hindering than hot considering his past. So he doesn’t exactly know how Steve feels right now with Bucky and his release all full up inside him, but based on the way he collapses sated on the bed after all the aftershocks have run their course through them both, it’s good. Just as good as he always is. 

Bucky doesn’t bother with pulling out, just eases himself down on top of Steve and lets his body bracket him with a groan. He needs a minute before he can even _think_ about getting back up. All that farm work doesn’t keep him from still getting sore. 

“You okay up there, old man?” Steve says drowsily. He’s still awake enough to chuckle when Bucky pinches at his hip. 

Bucky doesn’t actually even know his technical age anymore, whatnot with Hydra’s sketchy timeline of keeing him weeks off the ice for missions and period spent training him (because when the fuck did he learn fluent Russian?), but he knows he started out a year older than Steve, so that’s how he’s choosing to stay. He tells him as much. “Just because I’m your old man doesn’t mean I’m _an_ old man, Rogers.”

“You’re as grouchy as one,” Steve’s answer floats back. 

Bucky huffs out a laugh against his neck, glad to see he’s a bit back to his normal self again. “Yeah, yeah.” He lets them both have a moment of quiet, hand petting over Steve’s skin reassuringly until, “You okay for me to pull out, sweetheart?” He doesn’t want to jar him, not when the good feeling is still so fragile. 

Steve grunts his assent, although he doesn’t sound too thrilled. He never is. “Yeah, ‘m good.”

“You are.” Bracing his arm against the bed, Bucky pushes himself up far enough to slip free of Steve’s body, doing his best to make sure his come-slick cock doesn’t brush against the underside of the covers when he flops onto the bed next to Steve, knees drawn up to keep the fabric from sticking. Steve’s face is angled towards him, eyebrows knit while he feels the first trickle of come escaping his body. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, but- “I’m gonna go get us a cloth to clean up a little. We can go take a bath by the waterfall tomorrow. Weather is supposed to be nice again.”

Steve wrinkles his nose when Bucky lifts up the covers enough to leave, but nods his head. Bucky takes that as a signal to crawl off the bed and move to go fetch a rag from under the sink- a task that’s slightly uncomfortable to do dick out and naked, but the fire keeps him warm enough. Now that they’re no longer in the moment, Steve seems to be feeling that as well, because when Bucky gets back to the bed, he’s still under the covers but the sherpa pullover has been shed and tossed onto the floor next to their newly kicked out sweats from under the blankets where they left them and Bucky’s black sweater from earlier. 

Bucky, already wiped clean, hands the cloth to Steve and turns to move the clothes to the hamper while Steve gets himself wiped off. Listen, Bucky’s always gonna find him sexy, but he can admit watching him wipe his ass (even of Bucky’s come) is a little bit awkward for them both. Once Steve is presumably done, from the shyly held out bundle of washcloth and dirtied blanket he extracts out from under him, Bucky takes that as well and puts them in the same place. 

Steve slumped down, shoulders under the covers as soon as his body and spot on the bed are mostly clean. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t yet get back on the bed, standing next to it and carding through Steve’s hair with his hand, absentmindedly remembering his wish to brush it from earlier. And speaking of earlier wishes…

“I know you’re pretty warmed up already,” he says quietly. “But do you still want that hot chocolate I offered earlier?”

Steve’s eyes blink up hazily at him, half lidded when he smiles. “Yeah,” he sighs, curling up into Bucky’s hand like a cat soaking up the heat. “That sounds...that sounds perfect.” 

“You're perfect.” The response is automatic, and Bucky doesn’t even think about it as he turns away to get a new pot out (he’s also going to have to do the dishes tomorrow) to warm up the milk. When that’s on the stove and Steve’s eyes are on his ass and legs (it’s probably dangerous cooking anything hot while naked- especially with his hair still down and loose- but Bucky’s lived a lifetime doing dangerous things) he pulls out two mugs, spoons, and the cocoa powder as well. Within no time, he has all of his efforts combined and is carrying over one mug of steaming hot chocolate at a time to the bed for both of them to enjoy, curled up close under the covers while the rain keeps falling and wind keeps whistling outside. 

All that’s distant, though. It has no place in here, not with all that Bucky has done to keep them warm tonight. This climate might not be the coldest they’ve ever been in, but Bucky’ll work to keep them warm regardless of where or when it is. Just like Steve does for him. 

They stay like that for a while, sipping their drinks and letting the heat of each other seep close into their skin, but once Bucky finishes his cup off and reaches over to place it on the nightstand next to their bowls, he finds himself with one last thing to do tonight at hand. Turning to face Steve where his face is closeby, Bucky pecks a kiss on his lips that tastes like chocolate and gives him a smile. 

“What?” Steve says, confused. 

Bucky just holds up the hairbrush he now has in his grip, angling his head towards Steve’s own. “Someone needs to take care of that rat’s nest.”

Steve scowls at the teasing judgement in Bucky’s tone, but his voice is good natured. “It’s from the hat. And it’s not a _rat’s nest_ , it’s just a little tangled. I’m not used to keeping my hair this long.”

Bucky drops the brush on his lap so he can pull on a strand. “I’ll give you some tips.”

“Gave me more than just a tip tonight,” Steve counters, yelping when Bucky yanks his hair harder. “B _uck_.”

“Let me brush it?” Bucky says, tone switching from teasing to soft. Steve deserves soft things, after all, even if that isn’t always what Bucky has to give him. 

Steve’s smile is shy when he nods, setting his empty cup down and scooting closer to lay his head against Bucky’s abdomen over the covers where the brunette is reclined back. His eyelashes cast a shadow against his cheeks when he closes his eyes. “Go ahead.”

“I’ll try not to tug, but since I’m doing this with one hand…”

“I’ll be fine. I’m used to you yanking in my hair anyways, Barnes.” His nose wrinkles against Bucky’s navel when he does just that. “Jerk.” 

“Punk,” Bucky says affectionately. “You wanna tell me about the mission you were on today or do you wanna hear some stories about what my idiot kids have been getting up to while their other dad has been away?”

Steve huffs at the play on calling the goats ‘kids’, but ends up going with that option of conversion anyways. They’ll talk about what he’s been doing on his missions tomorrow- not that it much matters now that he’s finally decided to allow himself to stay. Bucky still can’t quite believe it. “That’s what you get for bottle feeding the little bastards too long. How are they?”

Bucky smiles and gives the first pass of the brush through Steve’s hair. “Good. Better now that you’re here.”

And really, Bucky thinks, that’s all there is to it when it comes to Steve. Things are always better in Bucky’s life when Steve is here- even this new one Steve wanted him to begin building on his own. He did, but without Steve...that’s one step short of his heaven, and he’s not gonna stop short until they get there _together._ Together they can weather any storm or winter, even the ones in Steve’s head or Bucky’s own.

Together they’re better. Together they’ll _get_ better. 

Looking down at Steve laying halfway asleep on his lap, snuggled up to his side, he’s pretty sure this is a good first step for them both in the right direction. 

**Author's Note:**

> so...here we are. thoughts? opinions? comments? kudos? as usual i hope you enjoyed, and my tumblr is @stevebuckyinc if that’s more your thing for feedback. 1 like = kisses and blankets for steve and bucky.


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